


Of Tea and Opium

by porcelainepeony



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabbles, M/M, iggychu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 15,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainepeony/pseuds/porcelainepeony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of England/China drabbles I've written. They're not continuous or linked in any way. Most are based off fanart by my favorite artist. If you're curious, just ask, and I'll be happy to link you to her pixiv account. Others are based off requests. Some are based off other artist's fanworks. Rating varies. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rating: G  
Pairing: England/China  
Word Count: ~390  
Notes: Written in like 5 minutes. I am not proofreading, okay? Okay. Cross-posted to ff.net.

xxx

The hug came more than 200 years too late, though England hadn't intended for it to happen that way.

Their conversation was formal, delicately planned. Polite, carefully chosen words were the only kind allowed in their exchange. They stood a few feet apart, both well-dressed, ties meticulously done. China held his head high, proud of where his country stood, and he eagerly spoke of Hong Kong and how happy he would be when England rightfully returned him.

But sorrow surrounded China. England caught it; the light sadly glistened in China's miserable eyes, and England had to swallow the lump in his throat. He nodded, casually answering China's questions.

England's chest hurt. It had hurt since the 1800s, but England had refused to remove his mask. He couldn't, not when he had everything to lose. As he looked at China, he let his gaze linger for a second too long. England had proudly worn his mask—and betrayed and lied and ripped China apart—all because he was afraid to lose. But—

Gold eyes met green ones, and England's heart skipped a beat. He sighed. The important thing that mattered—the only thing that mattered all along, China, _Yao_ —was lost, and he had foolishly lost Yao because of his own ignorance and folly.

"Aiya, Arthur, stop daydreaming. How old are you? Fi—"

A hand clutched China's arm. China's body moved forward, pulled off balance. In an instant, China was in England's arms, eyes wide and confused.

England's jacket smelled of bergamot, but China wasn't sure what he was doing in England's arms in the first place, nose pressed against England's clothes. "Arthur ... what are you—"

Arms encircled China's torso and tightened around him. England pressed his cheek against China's head and breathed in his scent. He mumbled words far too faint for China to hear, "I'm so sorry."

But China didn't have to hear the words to understand; the embrace was loud enough. His hands shook, but he brought them up to England's arms and clutched onto his clothes. "Opium bastard," he whispered, words shaking, trembling. He bit his bottom lip and buried his face in England's chest, hiding the tears that finally spilled.

England tightened his hold, crushing China against his body. He had senselessly waited 200 years to embrace China, but now he refused to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: PG  
Pairing: England/China  
Word Count: 373  
Notes: These are old drabbles, just so you know. Based on a fanart by Pocket. 

xxx

Hong Kong sighed, trying his hardest not to drop the book in his hands. China's arms were obnoxiously draped over his shoulders, and while that wasn't too much of a problem, the third wheel had shown up and decided to wrap his arms around China.

"Arthur, I never said you were welcome," China mumbled, turning his face to peek at England. The blond nation had discarded his jacket, tossed it on the floor somewhere, and happily joined Hong Kong and China on the floor. His arms were tightly wrapped around China's waist, much to China's—and Hong Kong's—displeasure.

"Where are you manners, Yao? It's rude to shun your guests." He placed a small kiss on China's shoulder and smirked, pulling China closer to his chest—pulling Hong Kong closer to China's chest.

"I'm trying to read," Hong Kong muttered, certain that his words had gone unnoticed.

They had, in fact. China sighed and glared at England, not once acknowledging what Hong Kong had said. "You're not a guest. I never invited you in."

"Yao, you smell of spring and flowers."

Hong Kong mentally rolled his eyes and flipped a page in the book. Wonderful. This was what he always wanted.

"Arthur!" China attempted to move away from Arthur's embrace, but he found himself caught in-between two bodies. Had Hong Kong been there all along? "Don't you see Hong Kong? He's trying to read."

England blinked and eyed Hong Kong, "Leon, haven't I told you not to read filthy American literature? Where is your Shakespeare?"

"… Who?"

Hurt by the answer, England returned to what he had previously been doing: sniffing China's neck. "See there, the boy is fine. He even has the nerve to insult one of the greatest writers of all time." He pressed a kiss against China's neck, blissfully smiling against the skin.

"Aiya, that's not what I meant!" China frowned, mumbling a curse in his native tongue.

Hong Kong let out an exasperated sigh and turned another page in the book. He was never quite sure whose house was more rowdy, but after thinking it through, he gave England another five minutes before China elbowed England in the gut and kicked him out of the house for good.


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: PG?  
Pairing: England/China  
Word Count: 403  
Notes: I'm transferring these from ff.net in case anyone is wondering.

xxx

" _Move_." It was the only word that left China's lips, but it was enough to send shivers down England's spine.

"And if I don't, you will ... ?"

"I'll throw a chair at your face." Simple, straight to the point. England loved that about China. He wouldn't move, though, even if it meant coming face-to-face with a chair.

"Arthur. _Move_."

The way China said his name also sent shivers down his spine. It made his stomach twist, his chest ache, his fingers tingle.

"You've been working too hard, Yao. How about a little break?" His hand remained on the paper China was attempting to read.

China finally turned his attention to England, gold eyes meeting green ones, and England had to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from reaching out, grabbing China's chin, and—

"No." China moved his hand and grabbed another paper; his eyes, however, remained pinned to England's. "If you are tired, go take a nap." A smile—a smug smile that England wanted to wipe away, wanted to _kiss_ away—appeared on China's lips.

England considered it. After a second, he grinned and leaned down. He softly touched his lips to China's ear, felt China shudder in surprise, and whispered, "Why don't we nap _together_." He anticipated the shove and grabbed China's wrist. A hard yank. A push. Papers littered the floor.

"Yao ..."

China half-glared at England; the Asian nation managed to pin _him_ against the table and had the nerve to glare at _him_! "Yao... this is rather uncomforta-"

"Arthur, when will you learn?"

England chuckled, ignoring the ridiculous pain shooting across his back, "Give in. It'll make things easier, Yao."

China sighed. Of course England would say that to him when he was the one pinned down. He eyed the nation beneath him and shook his head. The papers were a mess on the floor, and picking them up was not something China wanted to do.

"Never," China mumbled, releasing England's wrists, slowly moving his hands up the man's chest. He pressed his body against England's, holding back a pleased smile when England groaned in response. "But ... a nap with you doesn't sound _too_ bad," he murmured, gently pressing their lips together.

The pain in his back and the chair that would eventually be thrown his way hardly mattered. England wrapped his arms around China's waist and pulled him closer, smirking into the kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: PG  
Pairing: England/China  
Word Count: ~340  
Notes: I actually wrote this drabble because a friend of mine wrote one for the same picture. :'D Fun times. Fun times.

xxx

Decades.

England had spent decades upon decades lost in confusion. The first time England had seen him, the nation had been wearing a bright, traditional Chinese gown. His hair had been long, longer than it was now, and his face--no, his entire presence--screamed of delicacy and beauty. It was only natural that England—and Portugal and France and Spain and eventually America—ended up confusing China for a woman.

But England had gotten close—though not close enough—to China before to feel the obvious lack of breasts.

That didn't stop him from staring at China like he was some sort of apparition come back from the dead, though. He was too beautiful; he couldn't possibly be a man…

"Why are you looking at me like that, Arthur?" China's eyes were busy staring at some papers in front of him, but he could feel England's green gaze on him. Didn't the man have anything better to do than to gawk at him?

"We should find the others. America probably got lost and wound up in Burger King, but it is crucial to find him and—" England's voice faded, mind wandering back to the topic it had been focusing on seconds before.

"I'll look for America. You're in charge of finding France and Russia," China stated simply, standing from his seat, papers in a neat stack in his arms.

"Right," England muttered, standing as well. "Wait, why do I have to find those two?" He frowned, not at all pleased with China's sudden burst of leadership. His eyes ran down China's body, and before he could think of the consequences—because getting too close to China always resulted in physical pain—England took a step closer to the Asian and stretched out his arms.

China froze, the hands on his chest causing him to drop the papers onto the ground.

"Arthur..."

A joyful cheer. "Ha! France lost this time! That bloody frog better pay up, or I'll—"

The next thing England saw was the bottom of China's shoe.


	5. Chapter 5

Rating: G  
Pairing: England/China + Hong Kong  
Word Count: 280  
Notes: Based on a fanart the lovely Pocket drew.

xxx

The scene was a feint blur in the back of Hong Kong's mind, almost as if his memories were not memories at all, but fantasies. Yet scenes like that could not be made up. He remembered them too clearly, too vividly.

The scene he had dreamt about that night, for instance, was far too real for it to be an illusion. He could still picture those shining green eyes brimming with care and fondness. A tender smile, almost too kind and genuine, but it was definitely there on England's face. And he could feel himself in warm arms and hear that carefree laugh from the man who held him. When Hong Kong turned his face, gold eyes, shining with love, greeted him. China's smile was warm and relaxed, and the tenderness with which he held Hong Kong made the small boy smile.

"I suppose the boy can have a bite," came the soothing Englishman's voice. Hong Kong returned his attention to England just as the blond nation held the treat out to him. A chuckle escaped England's lips as Hong Kong eagerly leaned forward to take a bite.

"Just one," China affirmed, not wanting the small child to ruin his appetite.

As Hong Kong chewed the small dumpling, he noticed the way the two older nations looked at each other. Their smiles were sweet and tender, their gazes soft and doting, their voices loving and warm.

When Hong Kong opened his eyes, he knew that the scene he had dreamt was real. It was a memory from the past, a memory of the days when happiness surmounted treachery, a memory that Hong Kong would silently cherish for years to come.


	6. Chapter 6

Rating: PG  
Pairing: England/China  
Word Count: 266

xxx

China prided himself in not giving in to temptation so easily. As much as he loved certain types of foods or cute stuffed toys, he refused to drop his guard, especially when nations like France or Russia were involved. China knew better than to show Westerners any sign of weakness. However, China could not--absolutely could not--resist the life-sized Shinatty-chan standing in front of him. The cute button eyes with adorable lashes, the red ribbon, the happy-yet creepy-grin on its face; Shinatty-chan was too cute to ignore.

Almost subconsciously, China opened his arms and threw himself at the giant stuffed toy. "Shinatty-chan," he happily sighed into the man's chest, and that's when he realised-

"Aa... you're not Shinatty-chan." The familiar scent of bergamot orange filled China's senses. He looked up just in time to see Shinatty-chan--England!--take off the costume's headpiece. In an instant, China was picked up and swung over England's shoulder. A light-hearted chuckle then came from the blond.

"You tricked me!" China almost lashed out at England, but his position didn't allow him to slam his foot against England's face.

Another laugh, this one just as obnoxious. "It was easier than I thought."

"Opium bastard, put me down!" China's demand, however, was cut off when England place a hand on his-

"Aiyah! Do not touch me there!"

"You'll fall if I don't hold on to you," came England's logical reply. China could envision England's proud grin on his face, and the situation only made him angrier. If England knew what was good for him, he'd never put China down.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rating:** MA kind of... not really   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 455  
**Notes:** None of these are proofread. I apologize for errors~

I'm actually going through my folders and trying to upload stuff I haven't uploaded. These drabbles are... years old. Sorry for misspellings and whatnot. 

~

"Arthur!"

China's screams were going unheard. Why had he let the other nation tie him up anyway? Oh right, he was tricked! Those damned green eyes had looked at him with such tenderness that China had momentarily forgotten to _whom_ those eyes belonged. Now he was on the floor, shirtless, arms tied, lying beneath the damned _Opium_ _Bastard_ who could do nothing but smirk at him.

He gave the ropes around his arms a hard yank. Arthur's smile widened.

"Arthur, if you don't untie--"

"You'll make me pay. I know, I know." England ran his fingers through China's hair and slipped off the hair tie. China's hair—soft and long and perfectly _beautiful_ —pooled around China's face. England's heart skipped a beat and he promptly added, "You agreed to this."

"You tricked me," China retorted, glaring at the man above him. He shivered when England's fingers ran down his neck and across his collarbone. "This has gone far enough!"

But England refused to listen. He leaned down and pressed his lips against China's, a gentle but forceful kiss. A small, breathy moan fluttered in-between their lips, and England wasn't sure if it belonged to him or to China. Not that it mattered; the only important thing was the way China's lips and tongue responded when they came into contact with his.

The older nation bucked beneath him, trying to knock the man on top off balance. It was useless, though. England's gloved hands—tempting and teasing—were already sliding down China's torso, and this time England was sure it was China who moaned out loud.

"Opium Bastard," China angrily mumbled, unable to stop his pants from being slipped off and tossed aside. He half expected England to shove his legs apart and have his way with him, but all England did was quietly murmur apologies and affectionate promises against China's neck. His lips tenderly—almost too tender for the man who had drugged him and his people decades before—kissed down China's neck and chest.

China gasped, moving his arms to cover his face, a sad attempt at concealing the blush on his cheeks. When England's lips reached China’s stomach, the world around him melted away. China’s body tingled and his chest ached.

"Let me love you, Yao." A simple, affectionate plea. The words, spoken softly against China's hot skin, somehow reached China's ears. China's entire body trembled. A gasp fluttered past his lips as his body arched. He closed his eyes and said nothing, temporarily granting England's request.

For a moment, China felt trapped, tightly embraced in a heated dance with a haughty demon. Still, he couldn’t find the strength to push him away, and he almost didn’t mind temptation this time around.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Rating:** M   
**Pairing:**  China/England   
**Word Count:** 335

~

China laughed. It wasn't malicious or cruel or taunting, but it made England's entire body  _ shudder _ .

"What's so funny?" 

The blindfold covering his green eyes frustrated him. He hated not being able to see the other nation—beautiful, smile in place, a hint of playfulness shining in his eyes—and not being able to touch him was even worse. They had done this countless times before, so England was all too familiar with that doting, teasing gaze and soft, delicate body. Still, that wasn't enough to console him. England needed to see those gold eyes looking only at  _ him _ . He needed to feel Yao's warm skin and long silk-like hair.

"Aiya Arthur, stop struggling.” A pause, then a playful, “As you say, relax and enjoy." China's voice lulled him, made something inside him flare. 

He loved when China teased him, but his tie was wrapped too tightly around his eyes. It wouldn't fall off, no matter how much he struggled.

China leaned down. His teeth gently nipped at his bottom lip, crotch pressing deliciously against England’s. England flicked his tongue out only to find that China had pulled back, just enough to be out of kiss’s reach. China's breath tickled his lips, a whisper of a kiss making England tremble.

"Yao ..." England could barely speak. How could he? China's hands were slowly—teasingly—travelling down his chest, his lips and tongue and teeth following. It was almost too much for England, and he was suddenly glad the blindfold shielded him from glancing down and seeing China smile as he unzipped his pants.

"Lift," came the command. It was demanding and firm, though China's voice was barely audible. England complied and lifted his hips. The cool air rushed against his hot skin and England sucked in his breath. 

Control. England hated losing control of a situation, but when China was the one delegating the rules—and touching and tasting and oh so mischievously kissing every inch of exposed skin—England could momentarily forget about dominating.


	9. Chapter 9

******Rating:** PG    
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 775  
**Notes:** I’m a masochist! I apparently want to break my own heart. IDK. IDK WHAT THIS IS. ANGST. THIS IS CRAP. Also, I've never actually read  _ Butterfly Lovers _ . I've read 7654365748 synopses of it, but not the actual thing. Ffff, one day I will learn Chinese and read it. ;w; Until then, I will keep reading  _ Romeo and Juliet.  _

~

“Is that so?” England eyed the words on the page, foreign symbols doing nothing but blurring together in a mass of strikes and striations. He frowned and continued to listen to China’s voice—tantalizing, almost seducing—as he related to the story to England.

“Yes, and they made a vow: ‘till death do us part’.” China casually leaned against England, his chest brushing England’s arm as he reached to turn the page. “But Liang was too late. Zhu’s parents had already arranged a marriage between her and a rich man.”

China turned the page, eyes sparkling, gaze glued to the text. “Liang was so broken-hearted that he became ill and died.”

“He died of a broken heart?”

“It’s possible,” China breathed, glancing at England for a second. Time stopped, and England had to force himself not to toss the book and pull China into his arms. Instead, he broke their gaze and looked at a picture of the bride.

“Let me guess, she kills herself.”

“Aiya, so you  _ have _ read this?”

A chuckle, “No, I have not, but don’t those sorts of love affairs end that way?”

China sighed and flipped to the next page. “Zhu was going to marry Ma, but on the day of her wedding, she goes to pay her respects to Liang.” China’s eyes suddenly sadden, but the sorrow is there only for a second. “She is so desperate that she begs the grave to open.”

England silently watched China, his hands—which should have been pressing China against his body—trembled. 

“The grave opened, and Zhu threw herself into the grave, joining Liang. At the end, a pair of butterflies emerge from the grave.” At the mention of the colourful insects, China smiles. “And they were never separated again.”

The final page in the book is an image of a pair of butterflies. England scoffs, closing the book. “Sounds like  _ Romeo and Juliet _ to me.”

China raises a brow and eyes England, “ _ Romeo and Juliet _ ?”

“Shakespeare. Come on, Yao, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ .” It was as if a dagger had pierced England’s heart. “They were young lovers, but their families hated one another. Still, they tried everything to be together.” England’s face lit up, and China took the chance to grab his book from England’s hands.

“They died?”

“Yes. They perished in the name of love.”

It was China’s turn to laugh, “How sentimental.”

England frowned and crossed his arms, “Don’t get me wrong, Yao. Shakespeare was trying to mock Romeo and Juliet. Imagine, children of their age professing their undying love for each other. It’s preposterous.”

China stared at England, and then stared at the book in his hands. The silence engulfed them. 

“It makes sense now,” China breathed. If England read tales that made a mockery of love, then he never had a chance. “It was all a farce.”

The words froze England’s blood. He turned his head and gazed at China, but China was already standing to leave. In a moment of desperation, England reached out and wrapped his fingers around China’s upper arm, stopping him in his tracks. England stood just as China turned around, and he blurted:

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand   
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:   
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand   
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

China’s mouth hung open—his original intention was to yell at England for grabbing him so roughly—and a faint blush blossomed on his cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“Yao, the play was written to mock love, but everything Romeo and Juliet said to each other, every last vow and promise they made, that was nothing but the truth.” He swallowed, eyes searching China’s, “Those poetic confessions were all genuine, Yao.”

The world suddenly seemed to shrink. China felt cold and small. His gaze travelled to the floor. The words repeated over and  _ over _ in his head and threatened to crush his heart. Once upon a time, England had gently run his fingers through China’s hair and whispered strange, yet beautiful words against his lips. But the knight in shining armour was nothing but a monster waiting to devour him. China would not— _ could _ not—fall for his lies again.

“Arthur,” he whispered, eyes meeting England’s, “Words are pretty, but actions mean everything. Romeo and Juliet were willing to die for each other.  _ You _ were willing to kill.” He pulled his arm away, turned, and forced himself to not look back.

Because if he did, he knew it’d be impossible to ignore the regret and anguish visibly shining in those perfect green eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Rating:** PG    
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 434  
**Notes:** For Tsuki. 

~

“You’re unusually friendly today, Yao.” England’s words were being ignored; heck, even his distance away from Yao—which was about half a foot—was being overlooked. Was the older nation ill? Why hadn’t China shoved him away?

China pointed to a book high up on a shelf. “I am?” He eyed England, blinking from confusion, and then shrugged. His gold eyes focused on the book at which he was pointing. “I need you to grab that book for me.”

Oh. So there  _ was _ a reason for Yao’s smile after all. It wasn’t just out of tenderness.  

Green eyes stared at the book, and a frown appeared on his face. “I’m afraid that’s too high up, even for me. Perhaps Russia will—“

China grabbed England’s sleeve and pulled. “Bend. I’m light enough. All you have to do is lift me and I’ll reach the book.”

England’s mouth hung open for a second, but he quickly regained his composure. “I’ll hold you responsible if my back breaks,” he said with a light huff and kneeled.

A laugh resonated behind him. Warm hands suddenly pressed against his back and ran up his shoulders. A blush covered England’s cheeks. He wouldn’t have paid the touches much attention, but China’s legs were suddenly draped over his shoulders. 

Why had China run his hands across his back if he had intended  _ sit _ on him? 

“I’m ready,” China said after a few seconds of silence. His fingers lightly ran through England’s hair, idly playing with the strands, a small smile on his face.

“You’re not as light as you think,” England mumbled and received a rough yank as he finally stood.

“If you drop me,” China began, fingers unconsciously tightening in England’s hair, “I’ll never forgive you.”

“ _ You’re _ the one who had this brilliant idea.”

But once England was standing upright, China didn’t reach for the book. Instead, an amused smile plastered itself on his lips, and once again, his fingers began to comb the strands.

England shivered. “Aren’t you going to grab that book?” Not that he minded the attention. China’s long fingers were sending electric shocks down his spine. He was warm, and it made England’s entire being warm.

China leaned over a little, the smile disappearing. His voice, however, revealed an innocent playfulness, “You have grey hair.”

“I could let you fall, you know,” England retorted. And though his facial expression promised to drop China without a care in the world, his eyes swore that he would catch him in his arms before any harm came to him, and that he would smother him in an embrace.


	11. Chapter 11

**Rating:** MA (only because I gloss over some sort of wannabe sex scene)   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 420

~

China vividly remembers only their first three dances.

x

The first time was tender. England smiled and took China’s hand, fingers gently wrapping around fingers. England’s free hand snuck around China’s waist and brought their bodies closer. China moved his other hand to England’s shoulder, lightly resting it on the red fabric of England’s coat.

Soon, their bodies dipped and rose to a silent tune. Shy smiles were on both their lips, while green and gold eyes melted together. 

China’s cheeks were flushed. England’s were no different. An innocent lesson during a curious time.

x

The second time they danced was hot. Clothes were slowly slipped off shoulders and hips. Hands fumbled. Lips searched. The melody that played was one of hushed moans, breathy gasps, and tender promises.

Fingers skimmed across skin, tracing patterns and invisible words. Bodies slid against each other, fusing into one. A thousand kisses. China swore they shared a thousand kisses that night. 

His arms wove around England’s torso. He never wanted to let go.

x

The third dance lasted years. 

It was a devil’s dance. China was dancing with the devil. England’s lies blurred his vision. China was spun in circles, intoxicating circles. He couldn’t see anything but flowers and England. 

And he hated it. He hated the Westerners and all the lies. He hated the opium with which he had become fixated. But most of all, China hated himself for taking England’s hand and letting his protective wall crumble. 

The dance was too cruel. In the end, China’s body— _ heart _ —was sore and broken.

x

England and China had danced numerous times since then, but China couldn’t remember the exact instances. They were far too many.

An arm around his waist pulled him closer, and a familiar voice asked, “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I taught you.”

“Aiya, must you always say that. I told you, I remember how to waltz.”

England smiled at him, and China shyly looked away. It was too late, though. The blush made England’s heart skip a beat. 

“You were breathtakingly beautiful. I’ll never forget it for as long as I exist.” 

China blinked. He bit the inside of his cheek and tentatively moved the hand on England’s shoulder to his cheek. 

England froze as China’s fingers lightly traced his skin. He moved his fingertips down to England’s lips, his gold gaze following. England swallowed.

“I’ll never forget it either.”  _ You were all I could see. _

Their lips united, a silent promise to dance together for an eternity.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rating:** PG   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 487

~

Angry yells and mocking words had been nonchalantly tossed around for what seemed like an eternity; now, however, the room was silent, and China was gently pressed against a cool, hard wall.

England was far too close. Their bodies lightly brushed. England’s arm rested against the wall beside China’s head. His green eyes peered into China’s gold ones. Their breaths mingled, noses barely touching. 

Yes. England was  _ far _ too close.

China knew their afternoon tea would lead to arguing. It wasn’t often that they argued. Their silly spats had dwindled as the years passed. And when one of them—usually England— _ did  _ say something offensive, the other would sigh in frustration and leave. That was the end of that. They were mature adults; they knew arguing would get them nowhere, and China hated buying new chairs to replace the ones he tossed at the Englishman.

But this time, England had backed him up against the damn wall. China couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t look at anything except England’s brilliant green eyes.

The anger was disappearing, but the air was still tense. China half-expected England to say something obnoxious—what were they fighting about again?—or leave, but …

The younger nation closed his eyes and slumped against China. 

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered.

China blinked and automatically wrapped his arms around England’s torso. England felt heavy, and China didn’t want him to fall, so he protectively secured his hold.

A sigh escaped England’s lips. He turned his face, his nose brushing China’s neck. It caused the older nation to shiver; the other’s breath gently kissing his skin was  _ not _ what he had expected to receive from this argument.

Much less an apology.

“Hurt me?” China feigned indifference. He swallowed and moved a hand to England’s hair, gently brushing his fingers through the thick, soft strands. “We always argue. You didn’t hurt—”

“You know what I mean.” England pressed his lips against China’s neck. A soft, apologetic kiss. “I never apologized, Yao.”

China closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the side of England’s head. His hair tickled China’s nose. England hadn’t  _ verbally  _ apologized, but China wasn’t blind; he could see the regret in those eyes. He moved his other hand to England’s chest, gently coaxing him to stand upright. 

“The tea’s getting cold,” he murmured, finally able to look England in the face again. 

A minute in silence passed. England smiled. He reached his hand out and ran his fingers through China’s hair before cupping the nation’s cheek. After a quick glance at the tea, England chuckled and pulled China into his arms. 

“We can brew some more later,” he whispered against China’s lips. 

“I never said I forgave you,” China began, his words swallowed before he could escape his entrapment. 

But England could tell by the way China’s fingers gently wove through his hair that his apology had been generously accepted.


	13. Chapter 13

**Rating:** FC for FREAKING CORNY |D This is entirely SFW, but it may cause cavities.   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 647  
**Notes:** I am in this weird romantic mood. I don’t know why. I DON’T KNOW WHY AAAA!!!! WHAT IS THIS?! HOW FAR WILL I SINK WITH MY CORNINESS? SOMEONE STOP ME! /sobs

Not proofread. Please excuse any mistakes. This is for you, Tsuki.

~

“Arthur, are you listening to me?” China angrily pouted at the other nation seated in front of him. England had been in a daze all afternoon, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he had started to mumble to himself halfway through their meal. China had noticed the nation’s awkward behavior as soon as he stepped through the door, but he refused to bring it up. If he had learned anything in all the time he had known England, it was that the proud nation would tell what was on his mind when he was ready.

And England was obviously not ready to confess to whatever it was that was bothering him.

“Of course I’m listening, Yao,” England began, clearing his throat before continuing. “There’s nothing wrong with our living arrangements now, is there?” Three years. It had been three years since they  _ officially  _ began dating. If one could call it dating, anyway. Their relationship was anything but ordinary. They bickered like children and spent weeks—if not  _ months _ —apart, yet somehow, they fell into place. One day, without realizing the words coming out of his mouth, England had taken China into his arms and whispered a confession into his ear.

China had turned as red as a poppy, but no shove came. Instead, he had sunk into England’s arms and mumbled his own feelings into England’s shirt. Now, three years since that day, they were enjoying dinner and tea together.

“And why did you order take-out, Arthur?”

England blinked, his thoughts finally settling. “You just arrived in London. I won’t have you in the kitchen—”

“Aiya, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you enjoy eating this  _ junk _ more than my cooking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” England huffed. He pointed at a small plate beside China’s rice bowl and smiled, “You’re not going to tell me you don’t like the fortune cookies, are you?”

China eyed the small cookie and then England. The younger nation’s cheeks were flushed. Had he been drinking? Was that the reason for his foolishness? “Bèndàn,” he mumbled, taking the cookie in his hands and sighing. 

“Did you just call me an idiot?” 

Gold eyes closed and another sigh escaped his lips. China wouldn’t deny his sweet tooth, but…  “Something is wrong with you, Arthur. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” China carefully cracked the cookie in half, “You’re distracted and—”

A soft  _ clank _ resonated in the room. China slowly opened his eyes and stared at his dish. It took him a second to realize that the ring on his plate had come from  _ inside  _ the cookie.

His hands trembled. His breathing stopped. Rose pink coloured his cheeks. The ring was a plain gold band, and the note inside simply read: “Will you marry me?”

When China finally looked up, England was kneeling on one knee beside China’s chair. China opened his mouth, but the air ate his words.

“Before you say anything, Yao, let me explain. Two nations getting married may sound preposterous, but if you would do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage, I promise to be by your side. Always.” England’s words faded into a whisper, his eyes finally meeting China’s. A hint of a smile played on England’s lips. He couldn’t resist reaching out and taking China’s hand in his own.

“Aiya,” China whispered, attempting not to let his embarrassment—exhilaration mixed with surprise and disbelief—show. “You really  _ are  _ an idiot.” But the words were soft and playful. His fingers delicately picked up the ring on the dish and he held it out for England to grab. 

“What if I had eaten the entire cookie?”

England took the ring and chuckled. The gold kissed China’s skin beautifully. 

“I suppose your answer would’ve been much different, mm?”

China tried not to laugh at the thought as he leaned down and pressed his lips against England’s.


	14. Chapter 14

**Rating** : PG  
 **Pairing** : England/China  
 **Word Count** : 488  
 **Notes** : IDK my angst is showing /shot

xxx

China felt warm against England's chest. Warm and soft and small. China's arms were tightly wrapped around the taller nation, fingers desperately clinging to England's uniform coat, threatening to tear holes into the worn and blood-stained fabric. A shudder wracked the older nation's body, and it was at that moment that England realized China was crying. Silently, as if he were trying to keep it a secret from the other nation, but England knew better. His clothes were growing damp with every tear China shed.

England moved his arms and held China tightly, buried his face into China's hair, and sniffed in the man's scent. Fresh, like flowers and spring, but a hint of death loomed around him. The thought caused England to hold China tighter, and that's when it hit him—he too was crying. Tears slowly ran down his face and got lost in a mess of dark hair. He couldn't remember a time when they could lie together, side by side, without fighting or crying. All he remembered was pain. Everything hurt. China hurt. England hurt. Their bodies, minds, souls, hearts—everything. 

England hated reminiscing about the past. He knew he wasn't alone in the matter, but his memories were always ugly: war, bloodshed, death, disease, betrayal—his entire life was a blur of black and red. That is, until he met China. For a while, England thought his life could be normal, like that of a human. When he was with China, he believed he could forget about what was going on back home, overlook the meaningless killing and hate. He believed he could let love consume him, let China's very being consume him. China's smile and shy words, long hair and elegant clothes, poised composure and sparkling eyes—they made England's heart thump and his cheeks flare. 

But he threw away love and honor and tenderness. He threw away China and his gentle touches and sweet smiles. He threw it all away for a meaningless war, more bloodshed and lies, more betrayals and death. He had searched so long to find China, and when he did, he broke him. Tore him. Used him. Dirtied him.

And how it had hurt England. He was stupid and foolish—he knew that much. All along, he had wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold China. Kiss away the pain and lies and—

"You're wetting my hair," a hushed voice said.

"It's payback for wetting my shirt," England retorted. 

A small huff. "So childish."

England frowned and suddenly tightened his arms around China. He pressed a kiss against China's head and murmured apologies into China's hair. 

And China pulled him closer, fingers trembling, concealed tears slipping past closed eyelids. "Don't let go, opium bastard," came the soft words. A small, sad smile appeared on England's lips. He tightened his grip, answering China's demand. Perhaps if China forgave him, England could one day forgive himself too.


	15. Chapter 15

**Rating:** PG   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 653  
**Notes:** I do believe this time is the first time I’ve drabbled something AU for these two. But yea, it’s mostly my failed attempt at crack with a mix of romance. Actually, it’s romance, just a very screwed up type of romance. I’ve been playing with this idea of Prince!Arthur and Prince!Yao and some made up timeline where their countries are having a cultural exchange … program or whatever and HUZZAH! Arthur falls desperately in love with Yao, and Yao wants none of that. Or that’s what he says anyway. I’m never really going to write this whole idea out, but here is a... drabble based off those ideas.

~

Gold eyes, shiny dark hair, pink lips, ivory skin—why, it was as if Arthur had dreamed up his perfect mate and she had come to life before his very eyes. Take that, Pygmalion! The goddess of love had blessed Arthur with his heart’s perfect woman.

That is what Arthur would have believed, anyway, had he been an ancient Greek. However, this English prince was nothing of the sort. Instead, he swore that  _ fate _ had brought him to his soul’s mate. Why, he had heard the story the very first day he had arrived in China. The old lunar matchmaker would tie an invisible red string around the ankles of two destined lovers, and those lovers were fated to be together, no matter what. Even the best writers in England could not write a more perfect love story. And after hearing it, Arthur dreamed of finding the woman with whom he was destined to be. After all, wasn’t finding true love better than an arranged marriage? Arthur thought so. And what better place to find said woman than in an exotic kingdom?

“You are more beautiful than a budding rose, Princess.”

Yao blinked and tilted his head to the side. “I believe you are mistaken.”

“You aren’t a princess?” That hardly mattered to Arthur. Times were changing. He could marry whomever he well damned pleased.

“I am not,” Yao said, trying to pull his wrists away from Arthur’s grip. It was a firm grip, but gentle nonetheless. In the midst of all the pulling, Yao finally realized something. “Ah, you are Prince Arthur, are you not?” Yao had yet to meet the princes of England, but he had seen them from afar when they arrived to the palace and memorized their names as they were introduced to the Emperor. He hardly imagined to be caught up in such an awkward situation with one of them though. Yao knew customs in Europe were vastly different from his own, but never had he imagined England’s royal family line to be so forward. 

“I am,” was the simple reply. Instead of letting go of Yao—surely Arthur had seen how distressed Yao appeared—Arthur learned closer. He breathed in Yao’s scent, comparing it to the smell of a garden. And those gold eyes, wide with surprise—they reminded Arthur of a child’s innocence. They were pure and open, if not a little concerned. “I think Cupid has stuck my heart, for it is aflame with love for you.”

From how close Arthur was, Yao could see just how green Arthur’s eyes were. A faint blush covered his cheeks. What the heck was this guy saying? “Prince Arthur, you must stop this nonsense. I am Yao. Prin—”

A smile—affectionate and sweet—appeared on Arthur’s lips. Yao stopped and stared, his blush brightening. Despite all the twaddle, Arthur was genuinely sincere—or so it seemed. And he was also beautiful. The man’s sun-kissed skin, golden hair, and deep green eyes sent a jolt through Yao’s limbs. “I am not a wo—,” Yao began, voice a little lower than before. 

Arthur took the change of tone as an invitation and leaned down. His lips gently touched Yao’s cheek. The kiss was tender and shy. When Arthur pulled away, Yao noticed that Arthur’s cheeks were flushed like his own. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, my lady.”

Yao’s arms were finally released, but his heart felt as if it had been taken captive by this strange prince. “Prince Arthur, I am sure you know that my father, the Emperor, has four children—three sons and one daughter. This information is correct, right?”

A pause. That was not the answer Arthur was expecting. “Yes,” Arthur said, raising a questioning eyebrow. So Yao  _ was  _ the princess. He knew it! 

“Prince Arthur, I am his eldest  _ son _ .  _ Prince  _ Yao.” 

Arthur blinked and cursed Cupid’s blindness. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Rating:** PG   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 469

~

“Just one bite,” England said with a huff, the cool cup in his hand making the rays of the sun feel a little less hot.

“If I wanted to try your ice cream, I would have asked,” came the curt answer. China brought his ice cream cone to his mouth and licked off some of the melting treat before it dripped down his hand.

In actuality, the reason England wanted China to take a bite of his ice cream was so that he would have the chance to taste  _ China’s _ ice cream. England wasn’t one to like ice cream all that much—it was good on hot days, and that was it—but the added hint of China’s own taste on the ice cream was enticing. He  _ had  _ to taste China’s ice cream. “Then, may I have a lick of yours?”

“No.”

England almost pouted. The sun must have been causing him a little brain damage; he was acting almost as childish as America. In defeat, he lifted his spoon to his lips and let the coolness of the ice cream spread inside his mouth.

“Maybe if you generously coat the ice cream with some fudge, I will accept your first offer,” China said a second later, his gold eyes following the spoon from the ice cream to England’s mouth.

“If you wanted fudge, you could have asked the ice cream vendor,” England teased, giving China a smug smile. He scooped some of the ice cream onto the spoon, making sure he dipped it into the fudge, and lifted it to China’s mouth.

China’s eyes seemed to sparkled as he opened his mouth and leaned forward, ready to accept the ice cream. Except England pulled his arm away. “And then I can try some of yours, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” China answered, a small glare directed at the blond. But it disappeared a moment later when England brought the spoon to China’s mouth. China let Arthur press the spoon against his lips, the fudge staining China’s bottom lip before it was moved inside China’s mouth. The taste of vanilla and chocolate—and  _ Arthur _ —mingled together, almost making China moan out loud.

It wasn’t fair. England’s ice cream was way better than his own, though he highly suspected it had something to do with England, who now had a curious expression on his face.

“I take it you like it.”

China pulled back, a faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s okay,” he answered quickly and held his ice cream out for England. “Here. Just taste it and be quiet.”

England nodded, but instead of leaning down and licking the ice cream, he grabbed China’s chin and pulled his face closer to England’s. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Not even the sun could burn as intensely as when their lips collided.


	17. Chapter 17

**Rating:** PG I guess   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 672

x

Tenderness. That was the one and only word in existence that could be used to describe England’s kisses. They were always tender, no matter the century or circumstance. 

Their first kiss was by chance, unplanned. The tea in the cups was still hot. The flavour stained both their lips. Shy laughter and awkward glances ensured that both England’s and China’s cheeks remained painted with an intimation of pink. A gentle touch. A curious stare. England reached forward to brush China’s hair out of his face. The touch was delicate, almost innocent. China’s eyes widened for a second. A smile, sweet and inviting, graced his lips. 

England couldn’t resist. He leaned closer, almost falling off his chair in the process, but nothing would stop him from tasting those lips.

The kiss was slow, tentative, a gentle brush of the lips. Neither breathed. Delicate fingers danced up England’s chest. England’s fingertips barely caressed China’s cheek. Magical. That’s what the kiss was. It was soft and warm and—

It sealed their cursed fate.

The drugs changed them both, yet England’s kisses remained the same. They were always tender, but the tenderness made reality hurt that much more. 

England sought out China. It annoyed China. It made him angry and flustered and confused. They argued, shouted obscenities. China swore he hated England, and England laughed bitterly in response. Then England grabbed China, overpowering him merely because of the weakness caused by the opium. He smashed their lips together, and anger boiled in China’s veins.

Sorrow. An apology in the form of a kiss. England’s lips were soft and gentle. His hands delicately cupped China’s cheeks, yet firmly kept him in place. He refused to let go of China. Refused to let China breathe and think properly. Refused to free him from the addiction.

It hurt. Every time England kissed him, China hurt. The kiss pained him like nothing before ever had. He wanted to deny England. He wanted to scream and kick and hurt the man, but the kisses revealed the agony England, too, was suffering. Gentleness was not something England, a backstabbing tyrant, should be capable of, but it was evident in the way he kissed China.

England never took it farther. He would consume China’s lips, leave him flushed and enraged; then he would leave. Leave China with the remains of a half-spoken apology against his lips, a crushed heart, and emptiness. 

Tyrants were not supposed to be so tender.

Over the years, England’s kisses became hesitant, almost shy. Hong Kong was returned, and China forgave England, though he never forgot what he did. Perhaps that was the seed that sprouted England’s doubt.

England smiled. Green eyes sparkled, and China felt his heart flutter. China was strong now. He was stronger than he had been in years, but his stomach still flipped at the sight of those green eyes and polite smile. He laughed. England’s jokes were lame, old-fashioned, but they amused China and reminded him of the years before the opium. Then, he leaned forward and grabbed England’s tie. He pulled the man closer and pressed their lips together. There it was again—tenderness mixed with uncertainty, caution, regret. 

England gently traced his tongue across China’s bottom lip. Fingers threaded through long strands of hair, lovingly brushing dark, soft locks. And just as dotingly, England slowly pulled back, a small smile now on his lips. He rested his forehead against China’s, eyes revealing the same secrets his kiss exposed—fear and love. England feared losing, hurting,  _ betraying _ China again. He feared doing something wrong, something that would drive China away or make him hate England once more.

But what England didn’t know was that China never hated him. He couldn’t. The tenderness in every kiss divulged England’s adoration, an adoration that never waned. He loved China, and China knew all along. From their first clumsy kiss, China knew the tenderness meant that England adored him. And as long as England kept kissing him in that manner, China would always cherish the stupid opium bastard.


	18. Chapter 18

**Rating:** PG   
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:  
** **Notes:** Written for my bestie. Prompt is  _ paper _ . 

~

It was disgusting. Sickening. Downright  _ nauseating _ . The pretty, fancy cursive letters tickled the decorated—with flowers, no less—paper, causing an illusion of beauty and majesty that hurt China’s eyes.

More like burnt holes in them.

If that wasn’t enough, the words that adorned the paper were equally as revolting. Did England think he was courting him, or was he just messing around?

_ My dearest Yao, _

_ I hope you find yourself well. Forgive my silence; work has taken precedence, and I could not find the time to pull myself away until now.  _

China frowned, eyebrows scrunching as he continued to read.

_ Life has been lonely without you. I wake up, expecting to feel your warmth beside me in bed, but I find only a hallow space. It is cold without you; not even the sun rays can warm my skin. _

A roll of his eyes. In an instant, China was dialing England’s number.

“Alfred, you git! If you don’t stop bloody calling me at odd hours of the night—”

“Arthur, it’s me.”

Silence. China could hear England clear his throat before he continued, albeit rather sheepishly, “I apologise, Yao. Alfred has the nerve to wake me or pull me away from a good book more often than I’d like to—”

“Arthur.”

A pause. “Yao?”

Even though England couldn’t see it, he could envision China’s small frown, his hand on his hip, as if to say,  _ You’re not listening. _ A smile appeared on England’s lips. “I take it you received my letter.” Now he could picture the furious blush slowly spread across China’s face. England wished he weren’t so far, for the moments when China blushed were some of his favourites.

“Aiyah, Arthur, I told you to use the internet! Stop being so old-fashioned.” A hmph. England could still picture him, an angry pout on his face. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“That’s all right. But I refuse to use the internet. It’s impractical, and you know it.” Plus, England couldn’t type to save his life. Hong Kong, Canada, even America had tried to teach him. 

“Arthur, it’s practical in this day and—”

England smirked. “But then what would you put in that chest you keep in your closet?” 

“A-aa? Chest?” Feigned surprise.

“You know, the one where you keep all of the letters I’ve written to you since we m—”

A click. “—et.” England chuckled. 

China cursed out loud at his phone, grabbed the letter, and headed for his treasure chest. The next time that good for nothing ex-pirate sent him a letter, he would physically shove it down his throat. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Rating:** PG    
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 218

xxx

There was elegance in the way China yelled—argued, shouted obscenities, kicked, and screamed and swore to the high heavens that he would flay England the moment the European nation put a finger on him—as well as a profound sense of decorum in the way his cheeks puffed and eyes flared from anger. If he had to be honest, England would not be surprised to find that the sole reason he started petty fights with China was to watch China's passion unfurl. China was like the sun—burning and hot and mystical and oh so  _ beautiful _ , yet deadly and far—far, far,  _ far _ —out of reach. Nonetheless, England would risk his life to feel China's anger burn the flesh right off his bones until the European nation became nothing more than a pile of ashes and a pulsating heart—a darkened heart he wished for China to keep for evermore. He dreamed of the day when he would press his lips against China's and capture the rapture in his mouth, swallow all the rage and fervor China had to give until he had nothing left but desperate agony and frantic ardor. 

In the end, though, it would be England who would succumb to China’s passion, for the sun’s brightness, as beautiful as it gleamed, could only incinerate its victims.


	20. Chapter 20

**Rating** : Implied sex, but nothing explicit because I fail. :D

**Pairing** : England/China (as if y'all couldn't guess)

**Word Count** : 359

xxx

Suffocation was something both China and England yearned for.

In China's case, when he found himself in dire needed of losing his senses, of forgetting the world around him, of drowning himself in a sea of jade green and mindless passion, he would allow England to pull his body over England's own, until he was straddling England's thighs, until their lips were locked in an unbreakable chain. With furtive stealth, England would caress China's thigh, fingers snaking their way up to his hip, and comb China’s hair, pulling him closer into the kiss till all China could do was breathlessly murmur England's human name into their mouths and graciously accept the vile taste of Earl Grey staining England's tongue. His own fingers would clumsily begin to undo England's tie, subconsciously addicted to the smell of cigarettes and soap imprinted on England's skin.

For England, the drowning began when he allowed himself the pleasure of letting his gaze meet China's. As if afraid China would break--though knowing very well China wouldn't  _ ever _ break, no matter what was thrown his way--England softly rubbed his knuckles against China's cheek, eyes silently coaxing China onto his lap. The feel of China's warm body gently pressing into his chest momentarily gave England a sense of hope--hope for forgiveness, for a second chance, for something England dare not name, else he'd damn himself to a reality he was not ready to accept. The teasing way China toyed with his tie rendered him a breathless mess beneath the body of the one man whom he had truly failed to conquer, the only nation England ever honestly regretted scarring. 

Thus, the two would melt into one, a dance of tender touches, whispered lies, and false hopes giving way to a frenzy of thrusts and moans echoing throughout the room. Nothing hurt as much as losing themselves in each other, but then, nothing ever felt as invigorating either. And in the morning, once they had had a chance to catch their breath, England would be no where to be found, and China would gingerly leave the warmth of his bed and make his morning tea.


	21. Chapter 21

**Rating:** Sex is implied? Maybe?    
**Pairing:** England/China    
**Word Count:** 502

xxx

The way England's fingers pressed against China's slender hip sent shivers through China's body. China could feel the heat emitting from England's skin, a cruel reminder to China that he was still fully clothed. Imagining the way England's fingers would burn his skin wasn't enough for China; he needed-- _ wanted _ \--to feel his flesh scorch at the touch, to watch as his skin was set aflame.

Meeting England's gaze, China's breath faltered. Deep green eyes sparkled with softness, yet hidden in their depths was the buried pride of a once powerful nation--a nation that had torn China in half, drugged him, left him a broken rag doll. And oh, how he had hated England, how he had wanted nothing more than to take one of England's  _ industrialised _ cannons and blast him into the ocean, watch him as he sank to the bottom of his beloved sea. But China had become addicted instead, fixated with the indifferent gaze, power-hungry laugh, and demeaning grasp, infatuated with England’s pale skin, strong arms, and throaty whispers, possessed with a storm of feelings that left him vulnerable and open, craving nothing but England’s attention.

The worst part of all was that he was still addicted. There was no real cure for whatever had overcome China. If he had the chance, he would stab a knife in England's back and let the red consume England, but then, he knew his body would slowly wither away like an abandoned cabin in the wilderness--forgotten and replaced.

England leaned in, his breath kissing China's neck. China's eyes closed. Yes, he would miss England's corn-silk hair and the way his lips pursed when China dismissed his small requests for more afternoon tea. He would miss England's shamrock green eyes and alabaster skin. But worst of all, he would miss  _ Arthur _ .

“Yao, you’re supposed to  _ follow _ my lead,” England half-whined, obviously exasperated by China’s lack of motivation. “And here I thought Alfred was the worst dancer I ever met.” Pulling back slightly, England stared at China, eyebrows scrunched in complaint. “I do believe you have two left feet.” 

_ The man. _

Flushing from embarrassment, China turned his face away and glared at the floor. “I’d like to remind you that this was  _ your  _ idea, not mine.”

_ Not the nation. _

England chuckled, seizing the opportunity to latch onto China’s earlobe. In a low voice, he added, “Perhaps we should take this dance into the bedroom, hm, Yao?”

_ All Arthur’s beauty. _

Giving England a firm shove, China turned in the direction of England’s bedroom and began walking, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Aiya, is that all you ever think about? Honestly, you’re worse than a hormonal teenager.”

_ And all his faults too. _

“I’m not the one lustily staring at his dance partner,” England quipped after straightening himself. He received another shove and offered nothing but a short laugh in response. 

_ Because no matter what Yao told himself, there was no resisting Arthur. _


	22. Chapter 22

Rating: G?

Word Count: 502

Notes: Inspired by Oscar Wilde's quote: “You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” I was talking to my bestie about modern!China and this came out...

~

World meetings were daunting to say the least. Nations would gather, bicker, and drink. Some would be careless and misplace their documents, while others appeared to attend these gathering for nothing more than an update on the latest gossip. China avoided talking to the majority of the other nations, for too much work had to be done, and he didn't find rumours as appealing as some. So like every other meeting, China found an empty room and planted himself on one of the chairs, confining himself to loneliness and tedious paperwork.

On good days, China would get work done. Most days, though, China would linger on thoughts of happier seasons. Day when he didn't have much work to do. Days he didn't have to see the other nations, save for his siblings.

Sparkling gold eyes gazed at the papers on the table. If someone happened to walk by, they would think China was lost in the words decorating the page; however, by that point, China had fallen victim to his reveries, not the task at hand.

The truth was that China had changed drastically over the years. Adorned in a typical Western suit--grey slacks with a matching blazer, a forest green shirt neatly tucked away, and a boring red tie--China looked aged and tired. Not too long ago, or perhaps far  _ too _ long ago, China had been a gem--sparkling and bright, the diamond in the rough. It was no wonder then that so many of the European nations had fancied him, thrown themselves at China's feet for nothing more than a glance and a sigh. But how time had changed China, and how terribly down-trodden the eldest nation appeared. He was no longer the rare precious stone everyone ached for. He was simply China.

At least, that's what he believed.

Without fail, at every meeting, England would escape the dreary conversations promising to lull him to slumber and find his way to China. But he daren't enter the room in which China pined for his old glory days; no, that would be foolish of England. Instead, the once great empire stole a glance. Maybe two. He smiled at the back of China's head, sorrow and guilt etched into the fine lines of his face. 

Had someone only warned him, he would have stopped meddling in affairs with China. Had he only known how he'd attempt to go to sleep at night and lie awake instead, cursing his greed and pride, for they had hurt many before, but never had England regretted his actions until he had come face-to-face with China. 

It didn't matter that China's eyes no longer held that playful spark. Nor did it matter that his clothes were less fanciful and exotic or that his hair smelled of smog and cigarettes as opposed to jasmine and plum blossoms. From the moment England had seen China, he had heard a melody echo in his chest, and no matter how many years passed, the song only intensified in strength.


	23. Chapter 23

**Rating:** PG    
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 162

xxx  
  
There was a reason China preoccupied himself with trivial thoughts and careless dreams. If he allowed himself time to think, he often found himself pondering his people and their pointless suffering, his leaders and their endless greed, his siblings and all of their broken relationships. But worst of all, China would think about England and the way the European nation hurt him, the way he wrapped China around his finger and twisted China’s body until the Asian nation couldn't move on his own. China would think about England's tempting lies and beautiful eyes, and he would be forced to remember feelings he had tried so hard to keep buried for years. And so, China engrossed himself with recipes and dramas, with unimportant materialistic necessities and fake but friendly conversations with his officials. Anything. He would do  _ anything _ to keep his mind busy and away from things that really mattered, for they hurt too much, and China hated his heart for being human.


	24. Chapter 24

Rating: G?

Word Count: 249

xxx

Never had China known such delicacy, and never had he expected that tenderness to come from England.

The Western nation's fingers gingerly swept China's hair and combed through the strands. Fingertips kissed China's scalp and caressed the long, dark locks of smooth hair.

China hated having his hair touched, but something about England's eyes and the seemingly huffy yet shy request had pulled at China's heart and commanded his voice to allow for such intimacy. With reluctance, China had turned his back to England, waiting for roughness to grasp his hair. However, the hands that descended on him were timid and gentle, yet focused in their mission.

England removed the band holding China's hair in place and brushed the long locks with endearment and softness. It was enough to lull China into relaxation. But just when he thought his dreams would take over, the fingers pulled away, and China was left having to regain his balance. 

"Your hair is the envy of every European nation," England said, the words sounding distant in China's ears. 

China turned to look at England, blushing at the stupid compliment, and noted that his hair was in some kind of a braid now. Crossing his arms, the older nation looked away. "Don't get used to it."

England was happy China looked away; he didn't want China to see the sad smile on his face as he chuckled softly and turned to leave, the feel of China's hair etched into the memory of his fingertips.


	25. Chapter 25

**Rating:** PG    
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 264

xxx

From the moment England’s eyes met China’s, England’s decent had begun. All it took was an indifferent glance from the most beautiful gem England had ever seen in his life, and England’s life turned upside down. Not even the gold the Spanish had stolen from the New World could compare to the shimmering beauty of China’s eyes. And the tenderness of a rose petal, why, China’s skin was far more delicate and soft to the touch than the fairest rose on the planet. 

And like a rose, China was covered in thorns, thorns that tore at England’s finely moulded armour. And like the Spanish, England was greedy and wanted to keep the riches for himself. He wanted to strip China of his pride, make those eyes subservient to his every desire, rip away the thorns until China was bare and broken and  _ his. _

But England didn’t count on falling. He didn’t realise China would capture not only his greed but also his heart. He didn’t know China would stab and claw and  _ cling _ to England and drag the great Empire down with him.

Because, even without harsh words protecting him or glimmering secrets shinning in the depths of his eyes, China was still China—Yao—the one nation who had stabbed a nail in England’s isolated heart and lit his soul aflame. 

And England would gladly fall all over again, so long as China was the nation to bring him to his knees. 


	26. Chapter 26

Pairing: England/China    
Rating: G? It’s just angst;;;;;   
Word Count:   
Notes: From this post: http://writeworld.tumblr.com/post/57472586456/think-about-me-once-in-awhile-will-you

~

China hated England almost as much as he hated rainy days and Earl Grey. In fact, just the sight of England's shining green eyes and mused blond hair would ruin China's day and leave a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth. And just one polite--yet utterly fake--word was all it took for China's hands to shake in irritation and humiliation, repulsion and bitterness. 

Yet, as much as China hated England, China believed he hated himself that much more. Those same green eyes that left China with nothing but fury and loathing also shook China's core and lit his soul aflame, and any word England breathed made the hair on the back of China's neck stand. China swore he hated rainy days, but as soon as he saw rain clouds, he would wander outside and think about the blond nation, wonder if he was sitting in his home drinking his beloved Earl Grey. Was the egotistical blond thinking about the nation he exploited just for the sake of one more cup of tea and a little extra cash in his treasury?

"Do you think about me at all?" China's hushed words were carried by the cool wind and dissolved by the rain that began to fall. The same rain washed over China's face, long hair dampening, streaks leaving their marks down China's cheeks.

Of course England didn't think about China. The thought itself was ludicrous. China knew that, once England had everything he wanted, he would become as mythical as all the folklore England had once shared with China. 

And that's what China hated the most, knowing all too well that his thoughts had been caught on a hook and were constantly being tugged to the surface, only to find a ghost of a memory at the other end.


	27. Chapter 27

Notes: In which I quickly wrote 5 silly drabbles upon request.  I was playing a word game with a friend. The challenge was that she would give me five words. In turn, I had to write five drabbles, each 100 words or less. I cheated a bit... and interconnected them. XD

Words: pink, notes, dance, fire, fussy

Pairing: England/China

x

**Drabble 1 - Pink**

**Word count: 100**

The room was spacious and wide, save for the lone piano and its player. There was a window at the far end of the room, big enough that it ran from ceiling to floor, from right to left. China could see the sun in the distance, its sharp rays peeking out from behind the horizon. The room was showered in its warm pinkish-red glow, which was decidedly a good thing for China. It masked the blush that had kissed his cheeks.

“Why exactly did you want me to come here, Arthur?”

 

“Why, to sweep you off your feet, of course.”

  
  


**Drabble 2 - Notes**

**Word count: 100**

A delicate finger pressed a single key. It echoed through the room, through China’s veins. It was a beautiful yet terrifying tone, for it promised splendor and pain. England was the devil. China knew. And like the devil, he was cunning and slick. 

But China was too.

The older nation sauntered to the piano and stood right beside England, his own finger coming down on the key beside England’s. 

“I’m afraid you can’t sweep a floor to save your life,  _ Arthur _ .”

A smile. Wide and excited. “Let’s test that theory, shall we? And if you win, I’ll leave you be.”

 

**Drabble 3 - Dance**

**Word count: 91**

A scoff, but China nodded nevertheless. “Go ahead. Sweep me off my feet, Arthur.” 

A second too soon, and China was in England’s arms, one hand in England’s hand. China’s free hand automatically moved to rest on England’s shoulder. He knew this trick. The first time England had danced with him, China thought it was absurd, though he suspected it had something to do with their proximity. 

“You’re running out of ideas,” China criticized. 

But England only laughed, peeled his hand away from China’s, and buried his fingers in China’s hair. 

 

**Drabble 4 - Fire**

**Word count: 92**

When their lips finally met, China could feel flames well up in the pit of his stomach. They quickly spread, burning his insides. The hate, anger, despair, misery— _ love _ ,  _ longing _ ,  _ need _ ,  _ hope _ —expanded inside of China, promising to explode if he did not shove the Englishman away.

Yet he couldn’t. China’s fingers yearned to claw at England’s clothes, to bring him closer until the two coalesced. 

England pulled away suddenly, pressing China’s ear against his chest. And China did not resist; he cradled England’s heartbeat, closing his eyes to its sweet tune.

 

**Drabble 5 - Fussy**

**Word count: 99**

“You lose,” China chimed a minute later, gold eyes opening when he finally realized in whose arms he was resting. 

“Did I?” England raised a brow, arms tightening around China’s torso, trapping him against a strong chest. “I was under the impression that the sweeping happened many years ago.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, opium bastard.”

“Who said I was flattering myself? I was recalling details.”

China glared at him, pushing against his chest to free himself. But he couldn’t. The shove came half-heartedly. “I still hate you,” he explained, sighing in defeat.

Green eyes softened for a moment. “I know.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Rating:** G   
**Word Count:** 453

~

“You’re not allowed in the kitchen,” China said firmly, eyes narrowed in an attempt to spare England’s kitchen’s life. 

“This is /my/ house, Yao. I can come here whenever I—”

“Fine. I’m leaving,” China interrupted, not even waiting for England’s excuses.

With the quickness of a leopard, England spread out his arms and trapped China inside the kitchen. “I just want some milk,” he lied. In truth, he wanted to watch China cook. When he cooked, it was as if China was a doctor in the operating room. His gold eyes would focus on the task at hand, brows would furrow in concentration, and hands would meticulously chop and mix and stir. It was something England found majestic—he couldn’t toast bread for crying out loud!—so whenever the Asian was at his home, England would secretly observe China cook. If England didn’t know any better, he’d say he fell in love with China just a little more every time the Asian set out to make them a meal.

“That’s a lie. What do you want?” China sighed, shook his head in mock disappointment, and turned around.

It was the perfect moment. England wrapped his arms around the slender man and kissed the side of his face. It seemed China hadn’t noticed the intense green stare on him when he cooked. England’s secret habit was still a secret. “May I stay? I won’t get in the way.”

“If you’re staying, you’re going to chop the vegetables,” China answered, cheeks lightly flushed from the kiss. “Come on. I’m hungry.” He slipped from England’s arms and moved to the counter, a small—but hidden—smile on his face. 

England followed, frowning a little. He didn’t want to cut the vegetables. “This isn’t what I had in mind,” he mumbled, taking a knife and looking down at the cutting board.

A laugh. China also picked up a knife and stood beside England, for a second leaning closer to the blond to give the man a kiss on his clothed upper arm. “You should have thought of that before bothering me.”

A smile appeared on England’s lips. “Perhaps this isn’t so bad,” he chimed, watching China begin to cut the scallion. 

At the sight of the two men cutting, Hong Kong shook his head, quietly placing a cup in the sink. He knew the peace would last for only a few hours, for as soon as they all sat at the table to eat, China and England would both begin to bicker about how to conduct oneself properly at the table.

For now, though, Hong Kong relished in the quaint picture of tranquility and smiled faintly when England leaned down to whisper endearments in China’s ear.


	29. Chapter 29

**Rating:** PG-13   
**Word Count:** 505  
**Notes:** Based on this picture.  [ http://punkrockertjuhh.deviantart.com/favourites/#/d4zghh7 ](http://punkrockertjuhh.deviantart.com/favourites/#/d4zghh7)

~

Yao watched with sad eyes as his ship sank into the darkness of the sea. Most of his crew was already dead, but the screams and yells of the remaining echoed through Yao’s head. There was nothing he could do, though. Chains around his wrists and ankles prevented him from throwing himself at the mercy of the ocean to drown with the rest of his people.

Footsteps behind him startled him out of his thoughts. Gold eyes narrowed. “You have taken my treasure, my ship, and my people’s lives,” Yao began, voice unwavering. “Why have you yet to take  _ my _ life?” 

“The cap’n gave us strict orders. No one’s ta touch  _ his _ treasure,” said a redheaded crewmate. He then laughed and pulled on the chains, careful not to yank Yao to the ground. 

All Yao could do was growl, anger bubbling in his stomach as he was half-dragged to the captain’s cabin. Once there, however, the chains came off, but the laughing from the dirty pirate continued. It made Yao even angrier, though he was beginning to feel a sense of hopelessness as well. He heard the door slam closed and screamed, “Your captain’s going to regret ever attacking my—”

Another laugh, but this one was different. It sounded throatier, almost wild. “Oh? And how do you suppose you’re going to make  _ me _ regret  _ anything _ ?” 

Yao turned in the direction where the voice was coming from, but before his eyes could land on the man in front of him, he was pinned against the cabin wall, a knife firmly planting itself into the wood inches away from his head. Instinctively, Yao raised his arms, trying to shove the man off, but whoever this was, his strength was far greater than Yao’s. 

“Let me guess,” Yao said, frowning at the closeness and in disgust at being touched so easily. “You’re this ship’s captain.”

The blond man chuckled, his gold earrings shinning under the glow cast from the sun pouring through a small window. “The name’s Arthur Kirkland. But that’s Captain Kirkland to you, dear  _ Yao _ .” As if to make a point, Arthur moved closer still, pressing his body against Yao’s. “Welcome aboard Victoria. And don’t even think about escaping. Your body’s too valuable to become shark bait.” Another laugh, this one displaying a pearly set of white teeth to his captive.

“Unhand me,” Yao finally said, eyes widening when Arthur moved closer. His hands pressed against the blond’s chest again until he realized the man’s shirt was wide open, revealing a well-toned torso. Nothing good could come from this situation, Yao thought, shivering slightly when Arthur leaned closer to sniff his hair. “What do you want?” If the bastard didn’t move away, Yao would make sure the blond never spoke to anyone like that again.

Arthur pulled his knife from the wall, bringing it dangerously close to Yao’s neck. For a second, their eyes locked, gold gaze meshing with wild greens. “Isn’t it obvious?” Arthur smiled. It made Yao’s blood run cold. “I want  _ you _ .”


	30. Chapter 30

**Rating:** G?   
**Word Count:** 415

~

China would never say it out loud, but whenever England’s eyes fixed themselves upon America, a surge of jealousy overcame the Asian. England’s one flaw—well, he had many, but it was the one flaw no one seemed to pay any attention to—was that his eyes revealed his true emotions. England could scream or curse or bicker, but his eyes always divulged what he was really feeling—hurt and sad and lonely. 

That’s why China loved it when England stared at him. At  _ only _ him. The two would argue over nonsense, but one look in England’s eyes, and China could see how England felt. China refused to acknowledge it, but he could see the regret—everlasting, England had assured China—and adoration—for evermore, England had once promised him—brimming in those deep green eyes. 

But when England looked at America, China could see a similar adoration in those pools of jade, and it shattered China’s being. He wanted to scream and demand England to look only at him, but that was out of the question. It was foolish and childish and downright needy. And China was none of those things.

He sighed, staring at the papers on the desk. The meeting had finally come to an end, and the tired and hungry nations all stood and began conversing and leaving. China didn’t have to look up to see that America and England were beside each other, arguing about trivialities. Minutes passed, and after studying the documents long enough, China stood, ready to leave. However, England stood at the entrance, arms crossed, a serious look on his face.

“You were awfully quiet today, Yao.”

“Is it illegal to keep silent?” 

England’s eyes went from gazing at the floor to staring into China’s. “Yet you spoke up to curse at Alfred.”

“You do it all the time,” China said nonchalantly, shrugging to make his point clear. “Plus, he was getting too loud.” 

A minute of silence passed between them, the air in the room thickening. Before China knew it, they were the last two standing inside. 

“Yao,” England finally said, his gaze becoming soft. 

China’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

With a gentle smile, Arthur reached forward and touched his fingertips to China’s cheek. “I need only  _ you _ in my life. You know that, right?”

China thought about huffing and ignoring that comment, but England’s gaze left no room for denial. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “And I you, Arthur.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Rating:** G? I suppose…   
**Word Count:** 258  
**Notes:** The requested word was  _ lies _ . 

~

It was a daily occurrence.

"I hate you, Arthur!"

A huff escaped the blond nation. "Is that supposed to hurt me?"

And it wasn't a one time thing, either. China would remind England of his hate multiple times a day, much to England's distress. The day would start peaceful, a small argument would escalate into an all out war, and then they would settle back into a comfortable co-existence. Rinse and repeat. 

"Shut up, opium bastard," China mumbled, slamming the door shut behind him, but not before England managed to come into intimate contact with said door.

China could hear England on the other side, muttering colorful curses under his breath. If it hit his nose, as it had done many times before, England would have tears welling up in those beautiful green eyes.

A sigh. China flopped himself on his bed-- _ their _ bed--and closed his eyes. 

It wasn't as if he meant those words, but the phrase made China feel safe. Somehow. He pretended that shouting those words would save him from falling too deeply into England's doting curse. 

China opened his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to hide behind false declarations, he was already ensnared. 

"Yao," England almost whined behind the door. "This is  _ my _ house, Yao." An exasperated sigh. China heard England's footsteps disappear down the corridor. 

Even if China wanted to stop himself from shouting harsh comments, it was the only way they got along. Deep inside, England knew how China felt.

And China knew, there was no escaping England's web.


	32. Chapter 32

Notes: I used to drabble some weird stuff lol.

x

Seeing them together was not the issue. However, seeing China smiling--happily illuminated and blushing from curiosity--caused England's blood to evaporate. How dare that disgusting German touch /his/ China?

"Yao," England shouted, almost tripping on his own foot as he approached the Asian nation. "May I have a with you?"

China turned around and raised a perfectly shaped brow, frowning at the smell of alcohol radiating from England's clothes. He was accustomed to England's drunken antics, but the man's eyes looked wild. Before he could find an excuse to leave, his hand was grabbed. "Arthur, I don't have time--"

England sniffled, cheeks burning. Placing a hand against his chest, he proceeded to stumble over every word he uttered. "Thou art lovelier than a budding rose," he slurred.

Whatever unrecognizable gibberish England was saying was only irritating China. "I don't speak caveman."

"It's romance," England retorted, a look of hurt on his face. "What I mean to say is, Yao, I for years--"

"Arthur."

"For you--"

"Arth--"

"Longed!"

Swiftly pulling his hand away, China gave the Englishman a hard shove. "Idiot! Stop drinking!" A hmph and a curse later, and China was gone.

Watching the Asian retreat from his seat on the floor made England's heart sink a little. However, the night was young, and England still had a bottle or two of rum stashed away in his suitcase.


	33. Chapter 33

 

Notes: Drabble to one of Pocket's fanart.

x

"Yao."

The name was spoken with such a heavy ardor that China couldn't help but shudder in response. He shifted underneath England, his unclothed body and delicate skin pressing against the rough fabric of England's suit. The friction was unbearable, causing ripples of pleasure to swim through China's blood as his legs lifted and wrapped around England's waist.

"Arthur," China beckoned, shivering when England's lips pressed against his jaw. The hand over his eyes was beginning to irritate China, for as much pleasure as his body was receiving from the quick thrusts and lingering kisses, China couldn't see those eyes.

Those eyes that had charmed him, lied to him, tricked him, drugged him, devoured him. 

A gasp, breathy and restrained, bounced off the walls and echoed in China's head. 

England chuckled against China's neck, nipping at the skin, lapping at the bruise. "Eager, aren't we?"

Had China not been pinned to the ground at that moment, he would have shoved England against a wall and shouted half-lies at him. But he was caught, a butterfly in a jar, and pushing the other nation away meant denying what his body craved the most.

_ Arthur. _

"Don't stop, bastard," China instead commanded. And to his surprise, England did not laugh or scoff; he only ran his fingers through China's hair and continued to devour China's very breath. 

"I won't."


	34. Chapter 34

**Rating:** R    
**Word Count:** 517  
**Notes** : Um… the boat thing at the beginning has to do with the Great Tea Race of 1866.

**~**

Amber. If England had to pick a colour to describe China’s eyes, it would have to be amber. When their eyes first met, it was as if two stones collided, and the world around them slowly faded into the background. 

England had felt his entire body trembled from excitement, from fear, from desire, from a multitude of feelings even his best authors couldn’t describe. The sun shining above their heads had cast delicious rivulets of light upon China’s honey-kissed skin, and his golden eyes had twinkled brightly into England’s own. A flash of innocence and interest had flickered in China’s eyes, and, in that instant, England mentally decided that he needed the gentle yet fiery beauty in his arms. 

But that was more than a century ago. Whatever innocence either of them had possessed was long gone, and all that was left was resentment, silent anger, and unanswered questions.

When their eyes met this time, China’s amber eyes no longer sparkled with curiosity. They barely spared England a glance. “Do you have any word on whether or not the ships are arriving today?” China spoke the words without looking England’s way. The fact he was almost ignored angered England.

But the anger waned. “They were spotted not too far off several hours ago. It’s only a matter of time.” England crossed his arms, eyes peering off into the horizon, searching for one of the ships. “If you were going to be so sour about it, why did you travel all the way to London?”

China didn’t flinch. He would have seemed frozen in time had his hair not been swimming with the air. He, too, peered off into the horizon, arms gently resting against his sides, red robes comfortably lying upon his small frame. “I wonder.” He turned and glanced at England, but just as quickly as he had muttered those words, he had already walked away from the dock.

England mentally cursed the sky, the clouds, the opium, and the way China had looked at him, both once upon a time and now. 

x

Their lips brushed, and it was those same feelings all over again – the fear, the desire, the excitement all tossed against one another in frenzy. 

China didn’t taste like tea. He didn’t taste of jasmine or oolong or any of those delicious drinks England had craved and started wars for. China tasted like China. He tasted soft and warm and sweet, and when China moaned into the kiss, England thought he tasted far better than any tea in the world.

England cupped China’s cheek, tilted his head back just so, and slid his tongue across his bottom lip. China’s lashes fluttered against his rose-hued cheeks, and he raised his hands to England’s tie, slowly undoing the knot. He yanked it off and tossed it aside before England had the chance to tell him to be careful with it. Not that the tie mattered. All that England could see was that amber colour he had fallen in love with, and it was swirling in the depths of China’s eyes, beckoning him to take another taste of his lips. It was a request England would not pass up.


	35. Chapter 35

**Rating:** PG    
**Pairing:** England/China   
**Word Count:** 347  
**Notes:** I don’t remember writing this lol.

~

England could feel the stares burning holes in the back of his head. He stood out like a brown, rotten apple in a mass of shiny red ones. China had invited him to dinner, but when England accepted the offer, he hadn't realized that dinner consisted of China  _ and _ China's family.

All of them.

Japan politely passed the tea to Macau, Thailand cheerfully chattered with Hong Kong and Korea, and Taiwan excitedly asked Vietnam if she wanted seconds. Meanwhile, China sighed and mumbled something about table manners and the lack thereof being displayed at the table. No one listened.

So England turned his attention to his food and the wretched chopsticks in his hand. Carefully, he picked up some rice, only to watch most of the grains tumble back onto the plate before making it into his mouth.

A chuckle. "Aiya, how long has it been and you  _ still _ can't use chopsticks properly." China scooted a little closer, a small smile ghosting over his lips. 

England blushed, embarrassed and terribly distracted by the proximity between them. "Forks are much more practical. I mean, you can't even—"

He was silenced by the feel of the rice touching his tongue. China’s head was curiously tilted to the side, and he still wore that smile. 

"We're in  _ my _ country, so you'll eat with  _ my _ utensils."

A nod. England chewed and swallowed. His eyes quickly scanned the table. Everyone was seemingly distracted by the food or idle conversation, so England leaned down and gently pecked China on the lips. "It'd be easier if you kept feeding me."

China moved back a little and half-pouted, half-frowned. "Aiya, no kissing allowed at the dinner table," he whispered, stealing a glance to make sure no one had seen England's little performance. His eyes returned to gaze at England's and he sighed, "Just this once. But you have to eat whatever I decide to feed you."

England chuckled. "Fine, I have no qualms about that."

"Good." China’s cheeks were slightly reddened. He picked up a dumpling and brought it to England's mouth, "Say 'aah'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you stuck around and read my ridiculous collection of iggychu drabbles, THANK YOU FOR READING. I still love this pair very much. Comments always appreciated! <3


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